Frozen
by SammyQuill
Summary: Riza Hawkeye has never been defined by her looks, skills or personality. Only two words define and describe her - Roy Mustang. But what is she without these two words in her life? Warning: Angst and mature themes ahead, happy readers beware!
1. Note of Thanks

**Acknowledgement**

For Maria, Emma and Lucy whom I miss every day.

My everlasting gratitude to Vicky, Jess, Katie, Jen, Jamie, Emily, Mary, Veronica, Maggie and little Joey. You all know who you are but please also know that without your contribution, I wouldn't have been able to finish this.

My Big Bang team who (for some reason) doesn't hate me for piling so much work on them. Bookwrm389, I cannot tell you how much I value your insight and skill with punctuation. XxCookie MonsterxX, thank you for the last minute art. Sonja Jade, thank you for dusting off your amazing drawing talent and using it to illustrate my work so gorgeously – you really are a mind reader. A special hats off to enemytosleep for managing this colossal event so efficiently.

To maryh10000. mebh and Kittu9, thank you for being kind enough to give me a blurb for the jacket. You ladies are and always will be my "famous personalities".

The music that kept me writing, and that is now available in a fan mix that accompanies this story: Frozen © Within Temptation, 21 Guns © Green Day, Far Away © Nickelback, Mirror © Lil Wayne ft. Bruno Mars and My Immortal © Evanescence.

And of course, to Hiromu Arakawa who owns Fullmetal Alchemist for creating such beautiful and complex characters and the resulting intricacies in their relationship. Whenever I think of royai, the following quote by Zouberer S comes to mind.

"_Dozens of novels should be written about us and still, it would all be one big understatement."_

All of my FMA writing to date has been an attempt to understand how this unique relationship works. So far, I haven't found out that secret but I'm enjoying all the writing in the process. Perhaps there is no answer, perhaps their relationship really is "an equation that doesn't require a solution to prove its existence", it simply is. But I'll keep trying – and writing.

Just as I hope you'll keep reading and reviewing.


	2. I can't feel my senses

**AN:** Sonja Jade in all her amazingness made a Book Jacket for this fic which can be found on my profile under "Frozen Fanworks". She also drew an adorable fanart of little Roy and even littler Riza under the big, big table. Please check it out and give her some love

Also, sorry for the multiple notification emails, FF was being stubborn and I decided to show it that if someone was going to have to be mature in this relationship, it certainly wasn't going to be me. XD

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><p>The only thing that makes sense is the receding light.<p>

Of course, there are lots of other things. Loud noises, foul smells, the taste of blood in her mouth and the pain that threatens to crack her skull in two. But none of those stimuli make sense. And on top of that, she can't tell which way is up or down. Her sense of balance, her center of gravity, all of it is upside down. Or it would be if she knew where up and down were.

Her soldier sense is screaming at her to not give in to the unconsciousness creeping across her vision, keeps telling her that she must have hit her head pretty hard if the pain is anything to judge by. But how could she have hit her head? She was upright, on her feet. She had a gun in her hand, and she can still feel metal clutched in her grip, though it isn't the smooth one of a gun. And it's not in her hand anymore, it's in her mouth. Something metal is lodged under her tongue.

Why isn't she holding her weapon? She has to be in possession of it. She needs it to do her job, her duty...

Someone is screaming orders, the sirens are deafening, and a man is yelling for someone not to move her.

_Me_, she realizes as her visions darkens further. _I'm the one he's not supposed to move. I've been hurt_.

There are blurry shapes in front of her depleting vision now, shapes that hover but don't do anything. She wants to tell them she's okay, that they should forget about her and focus on the more important thing. But she can't remember what that important thing is, only that she needs her gun.

"RIZA!"

The howl of pure agony cuts through her ears with physical pain until she wonders if her eardrums have exploded. She wants the man to stop screaming, to stop being in so much pain because his desperate tone, not the sheer volume of his voice, is causing her more pain.

And she wants to know who this "Riza" is because the man is calling to her as if he might die if he doesn't find her. And even in her state, she knows that can never happen. She can't let it. _She won't._

* * *

><p><em>January, 1892<em>

The little girl grinned to herself as she hid underneath the big, big table in the dining area. She had been hiding there all morning, and neither mummy nor daddy had found her yet. She knew this was a good hiding place. Daddy never came into the dining room since mummy started feeling sick. Now they ate in the kitchen or daddy took a tray to mummy and then ate with Riza in his study.

He would be so worried when she didn't come in for her lunch. He would look for her all over the place, the little girl thought as she struggled not to giggle under the long, long tablecloth that always covered the table. Even the ends of her pink shoes couldn't be seen under that cloth, which made it an excellent hiding place.

The little girl waited all afternoon for Daddy to come looking for her. She was getting hungry, and her tummy was starting to make a noise. But the thought of her father's surprised face when he finally did find her under the tablecloth made her wait just a little bit longer. After all, she had found such a great place to hide. She couldn't waste it now, could she?

While waiting, the girl stretched her arms out and closed her eyes for a minute. She wasn't going to sleep – _she wasn't_. She just wanted to close her eyes for a bit, and she could do that now because she wasn't a baby. Daddy had said it was hard for mummy to look after a baby in her condition so Riza wasn't a baby anymore. She had decided a few weeks ago that she was all grown up. And grown-ups never went to sleep. Except for mummy, but that was because she was sick and needed lots of rest.

Riza hid for a long, long time under the table, but no one came to look for her. Just as the girl was about to start crying and crawl out of her hiding place, she heard footsteps and quickly sniffed back her tears. Daddy had finally come looking for her. He hadn't forgotten her at all.

Suddenly, the table cloth was lifted, and Riza smiled brightly up at the big person - only to realize he wasn't so big at all. And he didn't have hair like daddy or mummy, his hair was black. She didn't know him at all.

"There's a baby under the table," the boy said to her, and she immediately screwed up her face to let him know he was wrong.

"Not a baby, I'm four!" she said, holding up four fingers like daddy had taught her to. Two fingers on one hand and two on the other.

"So what? I'm almost seven," the boy replied, crawling under the tablecloth beside her. And even though he was so big, the cloth still covered him. It really was a good hiding place.

"What you doin' in my house?" she asked cautiously, deciding not to trust the boy until he told her why he was here.

"Auntie Chris came to talk to Master Hawkeye, but I wanted to see the house. My Auntie Chris is with him now. He has hair like you."

"That's because he's Daddy. And I'm Riza," the girl clarified, pointing to her blonde ponytails that mummy had made that morning. Even though mummy was sick, she still made Riza's hair and gave her baths and helped her to put on clothes. Riza's mummy was great and so was her daddy.

"So what are you doing under the table?" the boy asked, looking at her with a funny face.

"Hiding," she said and giggled. The boy laughed too. "You can hide with me if you like" she offered, and the boy smiled happily, stretching his legs beside her under the table, the ends of his white shoes peeking out. Maybe he was too big for her special hiding place.

* * *

><p>"Riza, Riza, please don't close your eyes! That's an order, Captain Hawkeye!"<p>

It is the same man again, the same man who was screaming only minutes before like his very life was being leeched out of him, slowly, agonizingly. The man is near her somewhere and someone is propping her up. Can't they hear him? Can't they hear he's worried? Why aren't they looking after him? Why aren't they finding this Riza the man keeps talking about?

She moves her lips, tries to say something, but her voice doesn't work. Maybe it's all the blood in her mouth. No, there's no more blood in her mouth, but there is something else, it feels solid and soft and a little cold. And someone is holding her while she's moving. No everyone's moving. She's in some sort of a vehicle, but there's enough room for a bed and three other people beside her, though she can't make out their faces.

She's so tired, she just wants to close her eyes. But the man keeps saying not to do that. And somehow, her eyes obey, and they struggle against the darkness.

But she's so tired…

* * *

><p><em>April, 1894<em>

Riza was back under the tablecloth because daddy said mummy wouldn't come home anymore. She was taken to the hospital where sick people go so they can get better, but mummy didn't get better. Daddy said she was gone, that she's part of "an intricate and complex design that man was perhaps never meant to understand". Riza didn't know what that meant, she just wanted her mummy back.

She couldn't cry because only babies cry, she was six years old now. Almost as old as Roy, though he was still older than her.

A few minutes later, Roy found her under the table. She should never have let him hide with her that first time she met him. Now he always knew how to find her, and she didn't want to talk to him right then. She just wanted to be alone, but not to cry.

"Come on, Riza, Mrs. Heckles dropped some food off after the service. There's pie," he said, and Riza simply looked at him. She didn't want pie, she wanted her mummy. Roy didn't understand because he didn't have a mummy, only an Auntie who lived all the way in Central.

"No pie!" the girl shook her blonde hair, swinging her neatly braided plaits from side to side.

"There's a box of cookies too," he tried again, but Riza shook her head at him once more.

"No cookie!"

"Alright, I'm not that hungry myself. Think I'll hang out with you under here for a while. How does that sound, Riza?"

"NO!" the girl screamed, opening her mouth and turning the word into a shriek. "NO! NO ROY! NO ROY!" And with that, the girl crawled out of her hiding place, hitting her head on the under side of the table and rushing of to find a new hiding place. One where no one could ever find her.

She ended up in her mother's room. It was a good hiding place. Not because no one knew about it, but because no one ever went in there after mummy went to the hospital. Daddy had taken all his things from the room and moved them to his study where he now slept too, and Riza had her own room near the study so daddy could come in if she ever got scared at night. But Riza was too old to be scared and never called her daddy at night because he didn't get any sleep and was always tired-looking now.

Roy never came into mummy's room either, but that was because he never went near mummy. Roy was daddy's student, and daddy had always told him not to bother "the missus" so he never did. And he wouldn't bother Riza now.

The girl made her way to her mother's bed and instinctively slipped under it, lying flat on her stomach and pulling the sheet down to cover herself. It felt like the table hiding place, but it was smaller and if Roy came, he wouldn't be able to share it because he was too big for it. Riza stayed under her mummy's bed for a really long time. In fact, she stayed there until night because she fell asleep there too and people only fall asleep like that at night.

But Riza was a big girl now and had to sleep properly in her room. She slowly got out from under the big bed and walked to the door, her eyes sticky and her feet clumsy. She walked to the door in the dark, but then tripped over something at the door on her way out.

"OW!" Roy yelled as she fell on top of him, realizing that though he hadn't come into her hiding place, he had been keeping watch by the door in case she needed him.

* * *

><p>"What's her blood type?"<p>

"O negative"

"Okay, we'll let the hospital know to keep a few pints on standby, she's lost a fair amount."

Through all the talking and her deteriorating senses, she can tell that something is wrong. O negative sounds familiar, but is it her blood type? She can't remember her own blood type, but O negative does sound familiar. Though it sounds more important than her blood should sound. It sounds like it should mean more.

"I have plenty if she needs it," the man says from somewhere beside her, and again, she parts her lips, trying to tell them not to take any from him. But again, no sound comes out. All they want from her is to keep her eyes open until they reach the hospital. That's where they're going, to the hospital. It makes sense now why she's in so much pain and why they're in a moving vehicle.

'Riza, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand," the man says, and she hopes that whoever Riza is will listen. Her own hands are dead at her sides. She can't feel anything, and even if she did, she wouldn't have been capable of the action.

"Riza, please! Riza, you're going to be alright, I promise. Riza, you _have _to be alright."

She tiredly wishes this Riza would hurry up and get better. Couldn't she see how much pain she was causing this man?

"Keep your eyes open, Captain, we'll be there in two minutes. Just hold on a little bit longer. You're going to be fine."

She doesn't feel fine. The last bit of light has left her eyes now, and she can feel the beginning of a deep sleep taking over her mind. She can only see darkness now, and she knows she's teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. But she doesn't close her eyes. She's been ordered not to.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> As you can see, I've ventured down another angst ridden path here. Let me know what you think.


	3. Do you know what's worth fighting for?

**AN:** The wonderful XxCookieMonsterxX did a remarkable illustration of Riza all banged up at the hospital as well as an adorable one of Master Hawkeye teaching the kids how to shoot. Please check it out on my profile and show her some love.

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><p>She wakes up surrounded by people in a medical facility. A nurse informs her she's at the military hospital, but when she can't recall where the hospital is, the nurse looks at her oddly before informing her "East City."<p>

The doctor is gentler. He asks her to relax and checks her reflexes. He gives her enough time to note that her left shoulder and upper arm are heavily bandaged and her right ankle is in a cast. Her eyes scan the room, looking for a familiar face, a sign as to where she is, who she is…

"Do you remember how you got here?" the doctor asks patiently, looking at a chart in his hands. She tries to answer, but her voice is too raspy. She shakes her head instead as a nurse brings her some water.

"Well, that in itself is normal enough. Do you remember what happened before? A few days ago, perhaps?"

She tries to think what the doctor means. How much time has passed since she's been in the hospital? How can she tell when for all she knows, she could have been here for a week? Again, she shakes her head.

"Are you uncomfortable? We can give you a fresh dose of painkillers, Captain."

Captain… that word triggers something. But what? She takes another swallow of water instead with her free hand before shaking her head a third time.

"How about you say something out loud for us?"

"How… How long?" she rasps, but the doctor seems to have no difficulty understanding her.

"You've been here for two days, Captain. You were brought in at emergency due to a gunshot wound on your left shoulder and a head injury caused by a large metal pipe. The bullet entered and exited your body as neatly as we could have hoped for given the circumstances, and most of the facial wounds were superficial, but the back of your head is going to be sensitive for a while. Just be glad it didn't crush anything important," he finishes with a wry smile.

"Should I ask for a mirror?" she questions, imitating his wry tone, her eyes still scanning the small room she is in.

"Maybe not just yet," he smiles a little more, clearly glad that she isn't going to lament a few scars and bruises on her skin.

"Who- Who bought me in?" she asks, looking at the door, hoping to catch a sign of anything familiar. Anything at all that would make this bizarre situation make sense.

"Your commanding officer and two paramedics. Lieutenant Fuery called the ambulance when you were hurt, and your General accompanied you all the way here. You weren't alone at any point. In fact, the only reason you're with us now and not anyone you know is because one of the nurses had to force General Mustang out for his own health."

Once again, her eyes wander around the room, trying to imagine all those people the doctor is telling her about.

"Are you looking for something in particular, Captain?" the doctor asks cautiously, making her realize he hasn't missed her nervous actions at all. Her whole body is tense, and her eyes keep flicking around the room of their own accord, just waiting for all the pieces to put themselves together. Something is missing. And she needs to find the key that makes it all add up.

"I'm not sure, Doctor. Who are these people you just mentioned?"

Suddenly, the doctor's soft expression changes into one of deep concern. Maybe he's finally realized that something is wrong.

"These names don't sound familiar to you? First Lieutenant Kain Fuery, Captain Jean Havoc? General Roy Mustang?"

Something clicks at the last name, but it's too fleeting for her to grasp. The woman closes her eyes, trying hard to recall what it is, but fails. Finally, she shakes her head again.

"How about your name? Can you tell me your name? Your age, your address, anything?"

She tries, she really does. But nothing comes to mind. All she can do is comb the room once again with her eyes, trying to find something physical she can look upon. Something that's missing and should be there. She doesn't know what's missing from the scene, just that something is. And if that something was here, she would have the answers to the doctor's questions.

"I can't… remember… anything..."

* * *

><p>He was ten when he first saw a gun.<p>

It was on display in the pawn shop down the road from where Master Hawkeye and Riza did the grocery shopping. Well, Master Hawkeye did the shopping. Riza just liked to walk along the aisle and choose the tinned soups they could buy. She always chose the chicken and the tomato ones, but still Master Hawkeye waited patiently for her to go through the whole process of contemplating the selection before she pointed to the same ones she had chosen the week before.

He had glanced up at the display window only by chance and spotted the old rifle nestled in a box lined with red velvet. Its handle was polished to a sheen, and its long body lay like a dormant serpent among the red lining. It was love at first sight.

Later that day, he confided to Riza that he was going to one day own that rifle. That he would somehow make enough money to buy it and then learn how to use it. Riza only scoffed at him, asking him why he wanted the long rifle when there were smaller guns available now. She had seen pictures of the weapons the military used in newspapers, and they were all smaller guns that you could put in your pocket. He dismissed her by saying she didn't understand because she was just a silly little girl – even at ten, Roy knew how to deal with a bruised ego.

But she understood. Or at least, understood enough to lend him the extra money he had needed four years later to be able to afford the gun. She was twelve then, and more knowledgeable about weaponry than he was. Heavens only knew where she had read up enough on rifles to know this was a Mouser Type B Bolt Action, but she did. She also told him it wasn't exactly as antique as the small town shop would lead people to believe.

But the worst piece of news she revealed to him was that for safety reasons, the bullets were not sold anywhere in their little town and would have to be ordered from outside. He knew then that his dream of one day learning to shoot would have to die. His Aunt had a licensed weapon and many means of obtaining ammunition for things she had no license for, but he couldn't ask her. Just as he was about to leave the house to return the weapon in hopes of a refund, Riza rescued him again, saying that she would ask her father for help.

As it so happened, Master Hawkeye too had a licensed weapon and means of getting ammunition. And he had no qualms about teaching two educated adolescents how to protect themselves. He ordered the bullets, unpacked them two weeks later and showed both children how to load the rifle. He took them to the woods and taught them the basics of gun safety, the importance of aiming and how one should never, _ever_, _**EVER**_ mess around with a weapon, even if locked and empty.

In the end, Riza turned out to be better at using the weapon than Roy, but it never made him jealous. As he grew up, the memory of her outshooting him in almost every match or hunt they ever had was not what stayed with him.

What did was the notion that she picked up a gun for the first time because of him.

* * *

><p>Riza Hawkeye…<p>

That's the name they have given her. Apparently, it is her own name even if it tastes odd on her lips, feels strange uttered in her voice. She is Captain Riza Hawkeye of the Amestrian Military, and she was in an accident that has resulted in Retrograde Amnesia. The kind of Amnesia that made her lose her past memories, but allowed her to maintain her learned skills, a nurse kindly clarified – not realizing that her patient is still hung up on that name. The name that sounds so strange, but not familiar. Surely, if she had been called that on a daily basis, she would remember?

A few people have been to see her since she woke up. A blond Captain who looked extremely uncomfortable and whom she didn't recognize. He addressed her as "Hawkeye" and when she simply nodded to everything he said, he left with his head down – defeated.

She doesn't know the woman Rebecca either. Or the mother who came with her daughter - Alice or something.

She's been assured that her work has been taken care of. That she's on leave for the foreseeable future, and that she is entitled to it anyway because she apparently never took a sick day before. The doctor also told her they discussed her situation with her superior officer, who sends his deepest sympathies and regrets that he had to leave for Central immediately, but will visit her upon his return.

For reasons she cannot understand, this makes her sad. Though logic warns her that most superiors would act this way. What would a General want with a Captain anyway? At least hers had bothered to stick around when she was unconscious.

And every day, the doctors try to find a way to jog her memory. They think talking to people she knows will help, but she doesn't know anyone. Not the white-haired man who brings her flowers every few days, not the redhead man who plays chess with her for lack of anything to say, and certainly not the small, mousy woman who brings a book along and likes to read to her. It's a good way to spend time and not talk to anyone.

At first, she tries asking questions to the people who visit, but it's clear how uncomfortable they are answering. Only the blond called Havoc seems to know more than the basics about her. Either that or no one else is telling. In an effort to jog her memory, a short lieutenant who introduced himself as Kain Fuery even brings along a small dog. And while the animal leaps at her and almost barks the whole place down, she cannot remember him. Though she does like having the dog around.

"Does he have a name?" she asks as her hand automatically reaches to scratch the dog's ears. The short lieutenant is about to answer when the redhead stops him.

"Why don't you give him one?" he suggests, narrowing his eyes at Fuery.

She thinks about it for a minute before saying, "Hayate!" and the dog goes into another frenzy, licking at her arm as though she is made of kibble.

For some reason, this makes both men visiting her considerably happier.

* * *

><p>In two weeks time, she is ready to leave the hospital. They say her wounds have all healed well, and those that haven't don't require her to stay cooped up in the experts' care. The small matter of looking into a stranger's face every time she passes by a mirror is not considered a problem by them. Or at least not problematic enough to keep her around. In fact, they think that being in her own home and following her own routine (whatever it is) will help her with her memory more than anything they can do for her. The only thing is, she doesn't know where she lives.<p>

So she's incredibly grateful to Jean Havoc for not only driving her to her flat, but also telling her a little bit about it and herself.

"It's basic military accommodation. You chose it because it's near the office and the- the other places."

So she isn't imagining it. She has begun to sense that every time someone starts telling her about herself, they become hesitant, nervous, awkward. And then change track.

"Anyway, it's not the roomiest place in the world, just functional."

Exactly as Havoc is doing now.

Deciding to continue, she ignores his hesitance for the moment and asks another question.

"How did you come to know me?"

A soft smile appears on his face as he pulls out a cigarette. "I met you in the Academy. Not too far from here actually. You were sixteen, and I was eighteen, but we were both first years. I wish I could say you befriended me because of my charm, but you just wanted a cigarette one day, and I was the closest one with a spare."

"I smoke?" she asks quizzically, unsure of what to make of this new discovery.

"Not anymore. Not that I know of," he replies, lost in thought. "The last time I saw you with a cigarette was about five years ago when Mus-" suddenly, his eyes come into sharp focus, and he's on guard again. "Anyway, I'd give you the grand tour of the place, but this is it. This living area here, the adjoining kitchenette there, and to the back's your only bedroom. The military isn't much for pampering us," he tries to joke in the wake of the earlier awkwardness.

An idea pops into her head and before she can think it through, she blurts it out.

"Were we ever romantically involved at the Academy… or later?" she asks, her gaze lowered, and her cheeks tinting pink. This is very embarrassing, but perhaps that is the reason why everyone has been treading on eggshells around her.

"Oh God, no!" he exclaims, his own head bowed and face coloring up. "I mean, not that you aren't…and I… we were, I mean we _are_ friends. We've always been just friends." He finishes, making his excuses to the carpet beneath their feet. "And I'm seeing… someone" he adds defensively.

"My apologies, Captain. You have no idea how deeply frustrating it is not to remember anything," she confides, the irritation she has been feeling for the last two weeks leaking out in her tone. "Everyone keeps telling me things I should know, and I can only shake my head. I feel so useless! I have no idea what kind of a person I was and what was required of me. I don't even know my friends from strangers on the street. Imagine yourself in my position, Captain, and I guarantee you won't be having fun either."

"Jean," is his only reply to her monologue.

"Excuse me?"

"When we're off duty, you call me Jean. And I call you by your first name."

"My first name," she raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, Riza, your name."

The woman shakes her head tiredly and sinks down into a chair nearby. The name still doesn't ring any bells.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> I always love hearing from you so please take a moment to review. :)


	4. Mirror on the wall, here we are again

**AN:** To see a hauntingly beautiful fanart of Riza sitting at her mother's vanity table, see my profile. Thank you, Sonja Jade for capturing the moment so perfectly.

On a side note, lots of hugs to Lou Nebin because she is just that much loved!

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><p><em>March 1903<em>

She knew it wasn't right, but she couldn't stop herself from doing it again and again. Of course, she was never obvious about it. Her father would be furious if he knew. Not only was she perfectly aware of the biological ramifications of what she was doing, but she was also aware of the danger she would be in if discovered. At least her father let her go out now to do the weekly shop. If he knew what she was doing right now, he would simply lock her in her room and pass her food through the cat flap. And if she dared as much as die on him… Riza shuddered at the very thought.

The teenager sat in front of her mother's vanity mirror, looking at her own reflection in its cool if slightly dusty surface. She used to hide in this room when she was a little girl because after her mother's death, no one had ventured in here. The rules were still the same. No one ever entered the room, not even she unless it was for this very reason.

The blonde slowly lifted the small knife she had smuggled in her apron from the kitchen, its smooth edge catching what little light the curtained windows allowed in the room. Working carefully, the girl lifted her skirt and rested the edge of the steel on the inside of her thigh. She would never be stupid enough to cut anywhere anyone could see. And as recent experiences had taught her, even her back wasn't safe.

She had expected the tattooing itself to hurt. Had prepared herself for it as her father had rubbed something cold all over her skin, but the pain hadn't come. Belatedly, she'd realized he was gentle enough to numb her skin before starting his work. He didn't want to cause her any unnecessary pain.

And yet it felt wrong to just lie there with nothing to take her mind off the fact that she had been nothing but a means to keep his research safe all this time. That she hadn't meant more to him than a lockbox at the bank. The realization had hurt, but her back hadn't, and that was just not how things were supposed to be. How could she hurt so badly every day and not have even a single scar to show for it? So in her attempts to remedy that, she had taken up one of her father's spare razors and gone to her mother's room for the first time in years.

Of course, if she was honest with herself, she always wished that she wouldn't be able to make it into the old and dusty reminder of the past. That something at the door would block her way. That she would trip over the sleeping form of someone like she had so many years ago.

But he was gone now. Gone because he had betrayed them and joined the military, and that was about the only thing her father could not forgive. He had raised his apprentice just as much as he had raised his own daughter, and the fact that he always received money from Central for doing so had never came across in the boy's upbringing. Her father had always treated them equally, when things were good and when they weren't. When money started becoming scarce, both their chores had been doubled. When her father's health started failing, both had been equally responsible for looking after him.

Except Roy was gone now – and he was never coming back. Why would he? What did he have waiting for him other than a sick old man and a broken girl with multiple scars crisscrossing the insides of her thighs? Why had she ever believed she could have been enough to keep him here was beyond her now.

Taking a deep breath, the girl pressed the knife gently against her already scarred flesh, watching as a thin red line appeared. She watched until that small line started weeping scarlet before finally releasing the knife. Riza simply watched the fresh wound bleed, feeling heady as the blood dripped down her thigh.

A moment later, she glanced at the door, just to make sure the doorway was as empty as it had been for almost a year now.

* * *

><p>She wakes up covered in sweat, the picture of the girl in the dusty glass as clear in her mind as it was in her dream. The girl who looked like a younger version of her…<p>

The hospital psychologist had warned her that this might happen. That her mind will attempt to recover her memories while in a semi conscious state when it can't recover them in the conscious one. But was it a dream or a memory? Did she always have dreams before? Or is this simply a memory that's trying to break through to her conscious mind?

"Only one way to find out," she mutters as she peels back the comforter and stares at her pajama-clad legs. Taking a deep breath, the woman slips a finger underneath the waistband and slides the simple pants down her hips. As inch after inch of skin is revealed in the soft glow of the lamp by her bedside, the Captain feels her blood freezing in her veins.

For old and faded they might be, they were still there, patterned against her inner thigh like clues to a mysterious code. The knife marks she etched on her skin a lifetime ago glow white against her creamy skin. Shuddering, the blonde pulls her pajama bottoms back on and sinks back against her pillows.

So she is the teenager in the dream, or memory. She was once that unhappy. Unhappy enough to cause herself pain. And that explains that tattoo on her back too. Her father gave it to her. But what of the burn marks? Did he give her those too? It doesn't seem like it because the girl's father hadn't wanted to cause her any pain. And she doubts those marks appeared without at least some sort of discomfort.

_Perhaps it's time to stop relying on witnesses and start looking for hard facts on who Riza Hawkeye is,_ she thinks as she closes her eyes, attempting to lure back a sleep that had fled her world completely for the night.

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><p>The worst thing he ever witnessed in his life happened in Ishval. And if he ever told anyone that, they would be smart enough not to ask further questions – assuming that it was his work as a human weapon that had scarred him so.<p>

It wasn't.

Of course, killing people _en masse_ on a daily basis weighed heavy on his conscience. He had, after all, promised to protect the very people his flames – the flames he had taken from _her_ – were destroying, but that was nowhere near as horrible as seeing her there amid the blood-soaked sands or the time when Maes was almost killed in a rebel attack.

But even the knowledge that his best friend had almost died and the only girl he ever cared about had sealed her fate wasn't that bad compared to the worst thing he had ever witnessed. No, even watching Kimblee blow people up as they begged for mercy would have been a welcome sight.

What really drove home how much of a monster he had become was her helplessness.

It happened in a half destroyed temple near the Daliha district. Riza was there praying for a child she had accidentally shot earlier when a few stray Ishvalans cornered her. The papers might make the soldiers out to be heroes, but in Ishval, they were anything but. It was common knowledge that their aim was murder, and no one cared how you used a body before you disposed of it. As a result, hundreds of women and children were raped on a daily basis before being put to death. He had heard jeers and laughs about it around camp.

So the Ishvalans were within their rights to treat female soldiers as their male counterparts would have treated Ishvalan women. It didn't matter to these men that Riza was in a place of worship, that she was mourning one of their own. She was just another blue-clad body under a sand-colored cloak, and that was enough.

But still, that wasn't the worst part. Female soldiers got cornered sometimes, and most of the time, they were either quick enough to reach for their weapons while the Ishvalans only had their hands and crudely made sticks or they would at least scream loud enough so that the nearest soldiers would come running. Riza did neither. She simply watched the men come nearer in mute terror. And then, when one grabbed her, she didn't lift as much as a finger in protest let alone reach for her sidearm. Just stood there, turned into a statue as the three men approached her from different directions, forming a semi circle around her.

Roy still remembered the dead look in her eyes as the men pinned her down by the alter, one pulling at her blonde locks while the other struggled with her military issued trousers. A third simply watched as though he was Ishbala reincarnated, serving justice to his people.

The alchemist came just in time to see what the men were up to, driven by an instinct he couldn't identify to head to the half crumbling temple. His flames made quick work of the three would-be rapists, but they had done nothing for the dead stare Riza had sported. Through the entire episode, she hadn't said a word, hadn't even looked anywhere other than the ceiling of the building they were in. He walked over to her and called her name several times, but her gaze remained unfocussed.

Carrying her in his arms as a last resort, he took her to the medical tent where the doctor on duty said that she was in shock. There was nothing physically wrong with her, but she needed time to digest what had happened. He took her back to his own tent and sat with her, talked to her, splashed water on her face, did everything he could until he got a response from her. And it was those few simple words that Roy Mustang knew would haunt him for as long as he lived.

"Why did you stop them, Sir? It's not like I wouldn't have deserved it."

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> And now you see why this is rated M. Probably some of the darkest stuff I've ever written so apologies if that's not to your liking. Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter.


	5. Misused, mistakes

**AN:** Another truly chilling and beautiful fanart of Riza and Kimblee in Ishval by Sonja Jade is now only my profile. Please give this artist some love for capturing my screwed up imagination so perfectly in art form.

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><p>Of all the people the Captain has met from her work place, she likes Vato Falman the best, and when she tries to pinpoint why that is, she can't help thinking it's exactly due to the fact that he doesn't treat her any differently from any other soldier who works in their office. While the others go out of their way to explain things to her, speak carefully to her and are generally cautious around her, Falman addresses her with the same brisk courtesy he uses for everyone. He doesn't feel the need to fill up silences with words or sounds and always gives a direct, albeit short answer to all her questions. She can't be sure, but the Captain gets the feeling that even before her memory loss, the First Lieutenant treated her exactly the same. The fact in itself is a comfort.<p>

It's also why she's here right now, during lunch when everyone save her and the white-haired man are at their desks.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" he asks, looking up from a sheet of shorthand writing.

"I'd like to look at my file, if that's at all possible," she requests plainly. Even in the few days that she has been back to work, she has learned that it is best to speak simply and truthfully to this man.

Falman puts his paper down and takes of his glasses, polishing them on his wrinkle free uniform before replacing them back on his face. "You realize that's not strictly legal, Captain Hawkeye." A statement, not a question, meaning he knows perfectly well what she's requesting.

"That's why I came to you."

A ghost of a smile appears on his face, and the expression is so rare yet familiar, she knows she has seen it before. "I can't give you the file."

"But you can help me?" she challenges, her expression mirroring his own.

"Yes I can. I have all our files committed to memory. I can have a perfect replica done by the end of today if I work through lunch."

"Thank you First Lieutenant, I appreciate it," she says, meaning every word.

True to his word, at five thirty that evening, she finds a nondescript envelope on her desk as officer Falman is shrugging on his coat. He doesn't say anything, but as Breda and Fuery wave goodbye from the door, she notices a slight spring in his step she is sure wasn't there before.

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><p>Ishval.<p>

The word makes her skin crawl.

According to the file, she served in Ishval during the civil war for almost five months back in 1908, right towards the end of the seven-year conflict. It also states that her job was that of a sniper, something that isn't surprising anymore given how many times she has been told of the legend that is the Hawk's Eye.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary in the records themselves. Graduated from East Academy, deployed to Ishval at age twenty, promoted to First Lieutenant at twenty three… Still, her eyes keep returning to the same word over and over again. _Ishval_.

The file explains her burn marks. She was caught in a crossfire and received severe burns, only to be brought to the medic – a Dr. Knox – by the man who would later become her commanding officer. In fact, now that she sees it written down, the name "Roy Mustang" seems to appear quite frequently in her file. If Falman's memory is to be believed – and she knows it is, even if her own is subject to question right now – then Riza Hawkeye has only ever worked under Roy Mustang after Ishval as his aide with only one brief transfer under the last Fuhrer's orders. And even that only lasted a few months after which she was transferred once again to the Flame Alchemist's unit. That's what the papers refer to him as, among other things. She also spots the words "Hero of Ishval" but skips over them hurriedly as they make her cringe too.

Nothing in the document suggests that Ishval should be more meaningful to her, but somehow it is. The neat and precise handwriting states that it is located in the eastern region. The maps show it is sandy and hot, but no material evidence implies that she should be physically sick at the sight of these six letters.

She has looked up the state as it now stands. It is no longer war torn, and in fact, has been almost rebuilt due to her commanding officer's efforts. Maybe that's why they call him the hero. But somehow, she doubts it.

About halfway through her reading, the Captain gets up and makes herself a cup of tea. Hayate comes into the kitchen, and she offers him a few biscuits, which the dog accepts happily. It would be so easy to ignore the sheets of papers spread out in her living room, she realizes as the water comes to a boil. She could busy herself with cleaning, Hayate and a number of things instead of trying to piece together her past.

But even without her memories, she knows Riza Hawkeye was never one to run away from problems. So, out of habit more than anything else, she picks up her mug of tea and heads back into the living room, to once again try and fail to piece together what she used to be.

It is only as the clock strikes midnight that she sees the strangest thing of all. In her application form to join the military academy at age sixteen, the place where a parent or guardian's signature should be, the words "Roy Mustang" stare back at her.

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><p><em>June, 1908<em>

Off the field, they called her the ice queen because she never broke a sweat. Some were discreet about it, either because they feared her skill with a rifle or because they had some remaining dregs of courtesy left in them. But others didn't even bother to hide it. A cadet had once glared at her and spat, clearing intoning the words "frigid bitch" in her direction as she stepped over the body of an old Ishvalan woman to make her way back to her tent.

Everyone was always complaining about the heat in Ishval but Riza never felt it. If anything, she was cold and numb most of the time. She had to be in order to do what she had to. When she first stepped into the sand, her head had been naively filled with ideas and notions of patriotism and a better world. That was before she met the officer in charge of their camp.

Major Zolf. J. Kimblee.

For someone of his rank, the Major took an unusual amount of interest in new recruits. But Riza could ignore the stream of both male and female soldiers, leaving his tent in various states of undress at odd hours. After all, everything was legal during times of war. And all she really had to do was stick to her platoon. Her expert shot had yet to come to anyone's attention, and most of her work involved digging trenches and cleanup duty.

And at the end of the day, she always had her blade.

One day, as the sun beat down unusually hot - hot enough to even make the ice queen sweat as she leaned against her shovel, pushing her blonde fringe out of her eye – the Major appeared beside her. "Why are you afraid to kill?" he asked curiously by way of greeting. He stared at her as if she was a peculiar specimen, one that deserved close examination before he can decide what to do with it.

"Sir," she snapped a salute, at a loss for words. He ignored her salute completely.

"Answer the question, Private."

She looked up at him, at his pale features so untouched by the sun, at the gleam in his eyes as they traveled all over her form. She wanted to shiver, to back away, but she was also fascinated.

"We kill in the line of duty, we don't have to like it." She gave the most politically correct answer she could give because she was genuinely surprised that he noticed her hesitance every time she pulled the trigger. In a camp where she had become famous as the heartless ice queen, someone noticed that she in fact, hated to kill.

"Do you know why I haven't sent you with the other snipers yet?" he asked casually, startling her. The shovel she was leaning on slipped from her grasp, and the Private only managed to steady herself in time as the tool fell into the sand. So he did know of her shooting record.

"No sir," she said truthfully, looking down at the fallen shovel.

"It's because you're too afraid of yourself. You're too weak to defend even yourself…" he trailed off, his eyes roving her over body once again. Stretching a hand in her direction, he touched a cool fingertip to her cheek, making her shudder violently. Shudder in fear, but unable to move away, like a snake would hypnotize and trap its prey. "You see… I could kill you right now, and you won't even move, Private. Why do you loath yourself so?"

She was unable to break the spell, unable to form words, unable to even look away from his mesmerizing gaze even as every sense in her body screamed at her to get away, to run and hide and never come back to this blood-drenched place again. Why had she decided to come to Ishval? Had the papers not been enough? How could she – a single person on a fool's quest – make a difference? Because the harsh reality was that no one could change anything anymore. It was too late, far too late to even hope. And she had given up praying a long time ago.

He was the one to look away, but not from weakness, of that she was all too aware. He was giving her a chance to redeem herself, in his eyes and her own. And it was a chance that she would have to take out here lest she die amid these sands. The war, the guilt has been growing like a tumor inside her, forcing her to maintain the façade of the ice queen who felt nothing and regretted even less. But only now did she realize that she would have to stop pretending and embrace that façade if she had any hope of survival.

Later that evening, she received her new orders. She was now to tail the Major on all his expeditions, protecting him as he went about his work. She was equally revolted and excited at the prospect, knowing that a new chapter in her life, no, the life of a soldier was beginning. Because if this soldier was to exist, Riza Hawkeye would have to die. The little girl who once loved her father, pined for a boy and believed in a better future had no place in Ishval where men in military blues murdered in broad daylight. It was much easier to let that little girl and her ideals die.

And at the end of the day, she always had her blade.

It was at one of those moments when she was about to slip the cold steel into her flesh that the Major walked into her tent. Her lower half was covered by a blanket, but that didn't fool him. He wasn't angry, not in the slightest. In fact, he looked… victorious, as if he had uncovered a secret he always knew of.

"Go on Private, don't stop on my account. I like to watch..." The words cut the air between them, sharp as the razor she held in her fingers. Slowly, ever so slowly he made his way towards her and inch by inch, removed the blanket. She couldn't have stopped him if she'd tried.

A soft smile lit up his features as he noticed the freshly healing cuts on her thighs. His eyes shone as they took in the scabbed skin against the older scars, making her realize she had always been a specimen to him, nothing more. And now that his curiosity had been satisfied, what would he decide to do with her?

"Well, go on then," he encouraged softly, licking his lips in anticipation as he gestured to the razor in her hand. "If you can do it in private, you can certainly do it for an audience. Or do you hate yourself less when I'm around..?"

It took forever to make up her mind as she stared back into his empty, lust filled eyes. The eyes of a monster, she realized for the first time. She had seen him committing atrocious acts, loving the power he possessed and the harm he could cause with it. But only now, as he tempted her to harm herself further, to damage herself even more than he could damage anyone, she realized her commanding officer was nothing more or less than the devil himself.

"Yes," she said softly, then raising her voice, repeated it again. "Yes." Yes, she did hate herself less when he was around. That was why she agreed to tag along with him. It made her feel better about herself, giving her a sick satisfaction that no matter how much she deserved

to die, he did so even more. Raising her hand, she flung the razor across the tent, and she knew she would never pick it up again. She would never be like him.

The next day, she was assigned a sniper's position and killing became marginally easier. All she had to do was imagine Major Kimblee's face in each and every one of her targets.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> A heartfelt thanks to everyone who has been reviewing, you guys make me want to keep on writing.


	6. Watch me fault her

**AN: **Yet another beautiful fanart of young Roy nd Riza as Roy is leaving his master's house. Done by the super -xX Cookie Monster Xx-, can be found on my profile. Give her some kudos!

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><p>He couldn't have been more than ten when he realized Riza and himself were different – different not only because of the big house they lived in or because they didn't go to school, but different in another way altogether. It had been a sunny afternoon, and Master Hawkeye had told them to go play in the garden when he first made the discovery. After a few hours of playing, Riza had been tired and wanted to go back home, but Roy had discovered a really cool anthill and wanted to see how long the small insects would keep entering and exiting it. Riza held no interest in the tiny insects whatsoever and was hungry so he sulkily told her to go back home even though Master Hawkeye had made Roy promise not to let Riza walk alone anywhere by herself. The building wasn't so far away, the boy justified to himself as he watched the little girl with her short yellow hair run on chubby legs towards the big house. He nonetheless breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw her disappear into the front yard and went back to watching the tiny insects.<p>

A half hour later, as his own stomach started to grumble and the ants remained fairly boring, the young apprentice decided to follow Riza's lead and run back to the house. In fact, he really wanted some lemonade, and there was an itch on his elbow. Had one of the ants bitten him? He had tried to be careful. He was glad Riza had gone back earlier or she would have been bitten too, and then they would both be itchy.

He spotted Riza waiting for him at the front door, a cookie in hand, and his stomach rumbled even more. The boy sped up, running across the uneven grounds to the front steps. Running until he tripped over a stone and landed heavily on his knees, face contorted in a grimace. Just then, he heard a scream, a high-pitched scream exactly from where Riza was standing, and the next thing he knew, the girl opened her mouth and wailed in pain, her cookie dropping to the ground.

Roy hurriedly got to his feet and made his way to the distressed child to soothe her, but her tears wouldn't stop. She simply kept crying and crying which was very unlike Riza. And finally, when she was coherent enough to explain, she pointed a chubby finger to her knee where a big bruise was forming – one that matched the one on his own knee exactly.

Both Master Hawkeye and the village doctor said it was sympathy pains. The old healer on Sloan Street said it was alchemy or witchcraft (she was notorious for thinking both the same). Everyone said the two children would grow out of it.

They didn't.

Growing up, Roy and Riza each knew exactly how the other felt because they felt it too. Every time Riza went off to be by herself, he knew she missed her mother because his own chest ached with her pain. And every cut, burn, scrape and bruise he suffered, she felt as well. Over time, the physical symptoms did lesson, but the emotional bond between the two only increased until they had no choice but to be happy together lest they risk hurting each other. Those were the happiest years of his life. Not just because of his own happiness, but also Riza's that he could feel magnified inside himself. Life had been easier then, when all he had to worry about was finding different ways to make her smile.

Leaving her was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He'd had to do any number of hard things since, of course. Burning her back, agreeing not to perform human transmutation for her sake, watching her walk behind Bradley… But back then, when he was just a young man and she had looked even younger than she was at the time, yes, it was the hardest thing he had done, a mistake that he had been repeating ever since despite promising himself he wouldn't. He had wanted to join the military, and the selfish part of him had wanted to take Riza along too. Master Hawkeye made a good show of not needing anyone despite his deteriorating health so why not let him be on his own? But even as the idea had uncurled its ugly tentacles in his head, he had known Riza wouldn't agree. She loved her father, and she wouldn't leave him, not for anything or anyone.

Not even for him.

The thought had enraged him further. That she was wasting away in the tiny village, chained by her obligations to a stubborn old man who only wanted a housemaid until he died. Roy had no sympathy for his Master at the time, only anger and resentment. Anger at all the wasted years without accomplishing any tangible alchemy skills and resentment that the one person he knew he couldn't live without would not put him above her father. He spent a week convincing himself he didn't need Riza. That she was simply a childhood companion and a habit he could get out of whenever he wanted to. He somehow managed to convince himself that Riza didn't mean more to him than a convenience – and cadets at the academy were granted as many conveniences as they liked.

Still, he never forgot the look on her face when she came down the stairs that day to find him at the door, his two cases packed and another bag slung across his shoulder. Her face went white for a minute, and he fully expected her to drop the tray she was holding, but she didn't. She simply walked to the nearest windowsill, set the tray down without a sound and continued to stare at him as if unable to believe her eyes. At one point, she might have even extended a hand to touch him, to feel if this was really happening.

And what was worse, he could feel everything she was feeling. The shock, the surprise, the horror, the painful, claustrophobic feeling of someone cutting off your air supply, leaving you gasping and breathless. Her eyes hadn't watered, they had simply asked why. Why he was leaving without saying a word, why he hadn't even bothered to inform her, asked her to come along even. Why he was walking out of her life just like her mother had so many years ago.

His Riza hadn't cried in a long time, and he didn't want to see her cry now. So, without a word, he picked up the two cases and nodded towards her, walking out the door and effectively out of her life.

Or so he thought.

Most cadets remembered their academy days as full of equal parts hard work and fun. Hard work because their instructors expected nothing less than perfection, and fun because as futurde soldiers of Amestris, alcohol, girls and other general facilities were aplenty. Everyone loved a boy in uniform and made allowances for him. That coupled with Roy's natural charm and popularity should have made his academy days some of the best in his life. Then why did those years now only serve to remind him how painfully his chest had ached on nights when he was sober enough to feel it? Why did the company of a friend like Hughes not make up for the loss of Riza? Why, in his dreams, did those eyes stared at him forever accusatory?

He didn't know what made him decide to go back almost two years later. He can't even remember justifying the trip to himself now. All he really knew was that one day he saw a couple of children chasing each other in Central Park, and the next thing he knew, he had requested leave and was on the first train east.

The girl that opened the door to him was not a stranger, she was Riza. But whether she was his remained to be seen. He saw his Master die, but didn't see her cry. He tried to apologize to her by saying he wished he could change the world. She took that to mean by flame alchemy. What he really should have said was that he wished he hadn't left and that they were still the same. He, not a man pretending to be a soldier complete with uniform, and she, not the shy girl removing her blouse to reveal what she had been subjected to after being abandoned by the boy who had once promised her father he would never let go of Riza's hand when they were children.

She asked to follow him, even if it meant enlisting, and he agreed because he was sick of pretending he could live without her. The plan had been simple. He had been left guardianship of the Hawkeye estate as well as the girl, and he could sign in place of a parent on her enlistment form. All her father's other worldly possessions would be sold and the money saved in an account under Riza's name to be kept until she came of age. Until then, she would be supported by the good country of Amestris, which paid for her education and lodging at the academy. Roy intended to marry her after being commissioned.

And then Ishval happened.

They had just started being comfortable with each other when order 3066 was issued, deploying all alchemists to Ishval effective immediately. He had to leave, and once there, he didn't really want to write to tell her what they were being asked to do in the name of Amestris. Just as well, as she was there a few months later to see it all for herself. Over the last few years, he was afraid he had been losing touch with Riza and her inner thoughts and feelings. His mind reasoned that all the time he spent away from her must have taken a toll on their "connection" – after all, proximity was a relevant variable in most equations.

Except what they had defied all logic, all the time. Because the avalanche of all her feelings, fears, hopes, regrets, self loathing and misery came back to engulf him the moment he set eyes on her the day she saved his life. Just as when they were growing up, he could feel _everything_ she was feeling, and he knew so could she. They spent so long staring at each other, taking in each other's auras that words hadn't been necessary. Their tale was always of the eyes, written in glances and felt deep in the heart, and at that moment, both their hearts were broken – never to be fully healed again.

That was the second time he ruined her life.

Anything that exists outside of logic, which defies all recognizable patterns and is completely unpredictable, refusing to bend to any rules science might put down upon it, is referred to as existing on the planes of chaos. Roy had always seen his and Riza's relationship as existing on the planes of chaos. How else could it have survived so much against all odds? How else would Riza have the strength, patience, endurance and masochism to stand by him again and again after he repeatedly disappointed her? In fact, she was his personal chaos. She defied all logic, all expectations one could have of a lover, a partner, a subordinate, a friend, or any number of roles he could ever assign to her. He knew her enough to know that he had it right all those years ago. They were each other's bad habit, too far gone to give up on now no matter what the consequences. They never had to say a word for it to be understood, not just by them but everyone around them. It was written plain for everyone to see and exploit that Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye simply went together – these two words just sounded wrong when not mentioned together.

On the Promised Day, she pulled a gun on him and told a lie. She said she would kill herself after killing him. What she should have said was that she was going to kill them both because he knew for a fact that her promise to kill him was a lie. That if there ever would be executions, there would be two. So closely were they melded into each other's personality that neither knew how to exist as an individual. Everyone in the team had at one time or another remarked that Hawkeye worked as an extension of Mustang, but they hadn't noticed that he worked as an extension of her as well. Both didn't have enough left in them to make two individual humans, both were living half lives – the only way to survive and move forward was as each other's halves, to pool enough resources to make an almost human who would set the sins of their past selves right. In a sense, both Roy and Riza had died in Ishval. What had emerged in their place was a single entity in two empty shells with a promise to keep and a wish to die doing so.

And he almost lost that half of himself too on the Promised Day. The day he left her for the third time, even if not intentionally. The choice to perform human transmutation for the unlikely promise of returning her to safety had been stupidly simple. The whole world against Hawkeye – what a pitiful choice, really. Because his whole world, worlds and universes, could only ever be made up of her. The promise of dedicating whatever life he had left to Ishval had dissipated in thin air as his hands reached automatically for the array, the electrical pulse of alchemy already coursing through his veins. If there was even a slight hope – no matter how false – that his Riza would come out unharmed, he would be a fool not to take it. The world and his own priorities had been crystal clear in that one instant, and it scared him later to think about it. But at the time, Riza was more important than anything else there ever was and could be in this or any world.

She didn't agree, of course. They had never really seen eye to eye on how divine Riza Hawkeye really was. How infinitely more precious than anything this tainted and sullied world could hope to produce.

And most recently, he had once again ruined and possibly killed her when he let her take that stray bullet meant for him. The inspection had been routine and the area covered well. No one had expected a scared rebel not used to handling guns, but no one batted an eye when Captain Hawkeye was the one who took the shot. Why would they? It was her job. She was a great soldier. She was also going to die one day because of him.

As he knelt by her side, watching the puddle of blood – her blood, their blood, he couldn't tell – widen, all he could feel was the numbness and Riza's own sense of duty. Had he been able to, he would have yelled at her to stop thinking of him and think of herself for once. But he couldn't, all he could do was try and staunch the blood flow as paramedics rushed to the scene.

He fully intended to ask her to leave the military once she recovered. To marry him, if she would still consent to that, or to make her own way in life if she so wished. Anything as long as it kept her out of harm's way. He knew he wasn't exactly the ideal husband, but she wasn't the ideal wife. They simply went well together despite all their flaws – or maybe because of them – and he had asked her to share a life, even if a half one, with him after the Promised Day. She had said yes. There really was nothing else to say. The half lives they were living apart could just as well be lived together, and they would feel less lonely this way.

But then the doctors said she was suffering from retrograde amnesia, and in a flash, the opportunity to set things right presented itself. He had never imagined a life without Riza Hawkeye just as she had never imagined life without Roy Mustang. But now they had a chance to rewrite the rules of their game of a life. Fate had presented them with a restart option, and Roy would never be able to live with himself if he didn't let her take it. He knew perfectly well how much she loved him, and he loved her far more than that even. But had that love been by choice or a habit so deeply conditioned into their being that they could not think of a life without it? Now, they had a chance to find out.

And for her sake, he hoped she would take this opportunity to relieve herself of the burdens of her past, to forget all her obligations to him, to never worry about matching her breath and heartbeats with his. He hoped that for once in her life, she would be what she wanted to be all those years ago – simply Riza Hawkeye, no strings attached.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> A lot of you have been wondering where Roy is and now you know. This was one of the most exhausting chapters to write because picking apart the threads in their relationship is like trying to count every drop in the ocean. And to all my Prides/Selims, I know you watch me! I would also love to hear what you think. XD


	7. If you have to leave

**AN:** Simply breathtaking illustration of the storm in Riza's dream by the phenomenal Sonja Jade is now located on my profile. Please take a minute to check it out.

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><p>"Rebecca, how close would you say we were?" the blonde asks over a cup of steaming herbal tea, startling the brunette almost to the point of dropping her own cup.<p>

It was a Sunday, and according to First Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina, the day to catch up on all the gossip. Captain Hawkeye wanted to point out that there was no gossip to catch up on and how such a meeting had huge potential to turn awkward, but Rebecca cut her off mid sentence, saying she could think of worse ways to spend a Sunday than sprawling on Riza's couch, drinking tea and being awkward. The Captain smiled at that and agreed.

Now, the woman opposite her looks thoughtful as she sips her tea, probably to give herself time to think.

"Why do you ask that?" she finally says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear.

"I just wondered how we met, how close we were… were you the kind of friend I confided things too…?" The Captain is almost sure Rebecca will show signs of discomfort here just as Captain Havoc did. But to her surprise, Rebecca simply continues to look thoughtful.

"Well, why don't you ask, and I'll try to answer as best as I can?"

"Alright, how do we know each other?"

Rebecca's eyes light up as she smiles at the question. "The academy, we were together in East, but I was your junior. I was one of those spoiled girls who only wanted a husband from the military, but after I saw how good you were at being a soldier, I felt ashamed of myself and decided to work harder. The husband excuse still stands though."

The Captain nods, not remembering but imagining Rebecca as she would have been then, younger, fresh faced, always getting called out for wearing studs in her ears that were against regulation. She smiles. The last one had definitely been a memory. "I find it very hard to believe you came to me and told me you had such admiration for me."

"That's because I didn't," Rebecca answers with a raised eyebrow, setting her cup on the table as she contemplates the blonde sitting across from her. "I hated you. Was a downright bitch to you at first because everyone painted you as an example. Major Crawley was always saying 'Hawkeye this and Hawkeye that.' We had a secret bet going that one day he would tell us to use the latrine like Hawkeye did too."

The Captain can't help but laugh at her friend's imitation of the Major in question. It sounds familiar yet strange, but it doesn't sound awkward or forced – two things she was sure this conversation would turn out to be.

"Then how did we become friends?"

"Well, back then, the best way to gossip and spread a rumor was in the shower – about the only time we weren't being watched so we did all the verbal exchanges there. Except you were never around for any of that. In fact, you didn't have any proper friends other than Jean, and he was a bit odd so people usually steered clear of him. Same cadets – unfairly I might add and never myself – thought this enough of a reason to stay away from you…" The brunette trails off, her eyes glazed as if far away, and her companion knows she is reliving the scene.

"I got a letter one night telling me my cousin had been deployed to Ishval. I was pretty upset. I never had any real siblings, and he was the closest thing to a brother so as soon as I got word of the deployment, I went off for a walk to sort things out in my head. I made for the woods in the surrounding area, but where I was expecting peace and quiet, who do I run into but you and Jean throwing darts on a target? Jean was beating you four to five, and he would have tied had I not interrupted. He's called me his 'bad luck charm' ever since." Just the way Rebecca says it, the blonde understands that she is the "someone" Captain Havoc mentioned seeing when Riza asked him if they were ever romantically involved.

"You guys thought I'd rat you out –and I admit I did think of it – but throwing darts looked like fun, and I decided to join you two instead. We didn't become the best of friends that night, but that's how we started. We became very close over the next two years until you had to leave for Ishval."

The Captains shudders at the word, still at a loss to explain why she reacts so horribly every time it is mentioned. "Rebecca, what happened in Ishval? I don't know, but the word doesn't sit well with me…" she admits, voicing her fears for the first time.

"It's not your fault," Rebecca assures her, reaching for her hand. "All the Ishval vets hate that time. It was… well, it wasn't pretty, we were all asked to do some really nasty things for our country, and those who did were hailed as heroes while those who didn't were dishonorably discharged or worse."

Again, the words "Hero of Ishval" ring in her head, but she pushes them away, concentrating on the other woman. "So we remained friends through Ishval?"

"I wouldn't say that exactly… for myself anyway, Ishval existed out of real time. We did nothing through it save our job, but yes, if you want to get technical, we did. We didn't see each other while there, we only met once we were back in East after the civil war had ended. But you were so different then… we all were, I suppose. It took some time for everything to get back to normal. We were together in Eastern Command for a bit, but then I was transferred to Central. We still kept in touch over the phone. Sundays were still our gossip days," Rebecca finishes with a soft smile.

Riza sips her own tea, thinking over what her friend has just revealed. It makes sense, but it still feels incomplete somehow. So far, she has spoken to Captain Havoc and Rebecca, who admit to being her closest friends, but she can't help thinking something is still missing. The same feeling that overwhelmed her when she first woke up at the hospital has remained persistent over the weeks – that the pieces of her memories are still locked safely inside her, but she has lost the key to access them.

"Tell me, was I ever romantically involved with anyone back in the academy?" she asks carefully, hoping Rebecca's reaction would not be as awkward as Captain Havoc's. Again, her friend surprises her by remaining perfectly calm and answering naturally.

"Not at the academy, no. In fact, you always gave the impression that you were involved with someone from even before that. But I always thought it was because you weren't interested in dating."

"So I wasn't seeing anyone then, or after?"

"Well…" For the first time, the other woman sounds unsure. "There were rumors in Ishval – about everyone really, and half of them were so absurd you wouldn't believe them even if you saw them with your own eyes – but nothing more than that. The Major you were stationed with was known for his… exploits, and some jealous cadet probably started the rumor…"

"Are we talking about Major Kimblee?' the blonde asks plainly.

"Yes and no. Some rookie said he saw that psychopath coming in and out of your tent at odd hours. And later, when you were transferred to Daliha, people said you and the alchemist stationed there were pretty close. I remember laughing at the rumor when I heard it, saying I don't recall Riza having a thing for alchemists."

"My father was an alchemist," Riza says neutrally.

"Yes, but I didn't know that until quite a bit later, when Jean had officially started courting me," Rebecca replies evenly.

"You mean I never told you about my family?" the blonde asks, golden eyebrow raised in surprise.

"You didn't tell _anyone_ about your family. It was one of those things that we all nonverbally agreed to never speak of.' the brunette explains patiently.

It does make sense, from what little the Captain has been able to piece together in her dreams and memories. She knew knows her childhood wasn't a happy one so why would she tell people about it? Still, she must have given something away, confided to someone. In fact, she knows that she has, she just needs to find out whom.

Riza sits up straighter on the couch as Rebecca finishes her tea. "I've been doing some cleaning lately, and I found something that makes me uneasy. I was going through some of the things at the back of my closet and I found a shirt – a male dress shirt – right at the very back. But it was folded neatly, not just shoved in…" The blonde wasn't surprised at first to see the fine white material in her closet, folded neatly behind all the clothes she assumed she never wore. It had looked oddly perfect amid her other clothes, and it was only after a few minutes that she decided to question its presence in her house. She took out, unfolded it and even smelled it. It smelled clean and… and another scent that had made her a little heady, but was otherwise it was just a shirt, worn soft and smooth over the years meaning she did use it - or at least someone did. But then why was it at the back? The article of clothing had no recognizable features that she could pinpoint, but she sat on her bed, breathing in lungfuls of the scent of that shirt later that night, feeling finally at peace for the first time since she had regained consciousness after the accident.

Riza might not remember Rebecca, but she knows when people are lying, and her friend is most certainly not telling the truth when she replies with, "I wouldn't know anything about that."

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><p>She doesn't know why, but there's an empty flower vase on her window sill that she always smiles upon seeing. The reaction is automatic, and she only notices it after days of smiling at said vase. She once wondered why she doesn't put any flowers in it, but somehow, the vase looks fine empty – and she can't help the niggling feeling that it will always remain empty. Whether it means something in a deeper sense or not, she isn't sure. She just knows it isn't her job to get the flowers.<p>

Similarly, there are many more things around her small apartment that confuse and amuse her. For example, though she has been told that she has been working in the East for some years now, a lot of her things remain unpacked. A corner of her living room is dedicated to a pile of boxes, which she can only assume she hasn't opened since even before she moved since some of them have "Shipped to Central" labels on them.

She also has very few personal items in her home. A modest silver picture frame showing herself, Captain Havoc and Lieutenant Catalina from what must have been their academy days, and a group picture of her entire office, with her commander's face strangely blurred. She has no idea why parts of the picture are so damaged or even why she keeps such a picture, but she knows it isn't there to be thrown away. There are also plain white gloves and a lot of crimson thread hidden in a compartment at the back of her chest of drawers, and she has no idea what they're for. Does she have a secret fondness for embroidery? And if she does, why would she have to hide it so?

Perhaps the strangest discovery is the box of matches on her dressing table. She wasn't at all surprised to find that she doesn't own a huge assortment of hair ornaments, just a dozen plain hair bands and the clips that kept her hair up, along with a sensible brush to comb out her hair. But apparently, there are also a dozen matchsticks in a box next to her hair clips, insinuating that she actually uses them as hair accessories. But why would she – or anyone really - do that? Still, strange as it is, the sight of the matchbox never fails to reassure her, as if it is some sort of safety net she can rely on in an emergency.

Yes, there are many things at her own home that amuse and confuse her. The empty vase, the packed boxes, the damaged photograph, the shirt in her closet, the gloves and crimson thread. But she knows the secret to her past self is locked in these items so she doesn't attempt to change them. She doesn't get flowers to fill the vase, change the location of the shirt or throw away the photograph because they are all part of Riza Hawkeye, who didn't feel as incomplete as she does. If she is truthful to herself, the reason why her name doesn't sound familiar to her is because she isn't that Riza Hawkeye who knew and understood what all these oddities mean. And whilst the Captain has discovered sufficient evidence to know that Riza Hawkeye didn't lead a very pleasant life, she still wants that life back. Because nothing could be worse than stumbling day in and day out from one place to another, feeling as if there's a hole in your heart that refuses to be filled.

She knows for a fact that the former Riza didn't feel this way, whatever else she might have felt. Because if she did, the current one would remember. Some things are too important to completely forget.

That night, she dreams of a storm in a desert, the lightning flashing dangerously in the dark sky, threatening to split the entire world in two. But where others around her are running for cover from the pouring rain, she makes no move to seek shelter. She lets the rain soak her through, staring at the bolts of lightning, transfixed by their awesome beauty. She even wishes one would come down and touch her, so she could feel what it would be like to be burned like all the people who've burned because of her. She wonders if it hurts or if the pain is so fleeting, it is nonexistent. She doesn't know which is worse.

She wakes up shaking and scared, unsure of it's a dream or a memory, but absolutely sure of the fact that whatever it had been, she wasn't the only one out in the rain. There was another besides her who wished to be struck down by lightning as much as she did.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Feedback is very much loved.


	8. Epilogue

**AN:** More artage by -xX Cookie Monster Xx-, go check it out on my profile!

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><p>General Roy Mustang knows he has to go back. He can't stay away from his unit for an indefinite period of time without taking official leave. He had excused himself on the grounds of official business in Central, but that excuse had ran its course two weeks ago. Then he phoned to say he was feeling under the weather and spent the next fourteen days with Madam Christmas and the girls, who didn't mind his brooding company or the alcohol he consumed on a daily basis. Once Vanessa tried talking to him, but his determination to say nothing thwarted her well-meaning attempts, and she didn't try again. Madelyn didn't even bother, saying there was nothing she could do when Roy boy was in one of his moods.<p>

But even that period came to an end, and now only a physical injury will serve to keep him away from East HQ. He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't considered it, but he decides in the end that over two months is enough time. Enough time for Hawkeye to settle into her new life and learn to live without him contently casting his dark shadow over her. The thought stings more than a little, but if he truly wants what's best for the only woman he ever loved, then he will have to get used to a lot more stinging like this one. A new life meant a life without him, where she would finally be happy, meet someone else, settle down and start a family while he… all he will be able to do is watch from the shadows, pretending his heart isn't breaking anew every time she smiles in the direction of another man.

If it was anyone but Hawkeye… but therein lay the problem, didn't it? It _was_ Hawkeye, _his_ Hawkeye and he would have to do it for her. Because no matter what anyone says or does, the fact remains that he doesn't deserve her, never has, never will. He has spent all his life as a parasite, leeching off her happiness, joy, love, attention, loyalty, all the things he has no right to. And giving her only pain in return. The alchemist shakes his head, knocking back the rest of his whiskey. No, he can't think about that anymore. Tomorrow will mark a new chapter in his life as well as Hawkeye's. But not theirs. The whole point of all this is so there will never be a "they" or "their" again. They will be two different people, not bound together by enough misguided pain and love to shatter the beliefs of even the most devout.

Roy himself has never believed in the almighty, and Riza was brought up similarly, but seeing Riza on certain days in a certain light always made him wonder otherwise. How else would a miracle like Hawkeye exist? One that has no place in his life after all the things he has done? He always wanted to worship her the way the Ishvalans did their deity, but he didn't, and now he had to let her go.

The raven-haired man sleeps through most of the train journey the next day, dreaming of storms and lightning and the wish to be incinerated by the fires of hell just as he doled out his own brand of stolen fire on those helpless Ishvalans. And when he reaches his destination, it is night time. The skies are clear and the moon is out, and Roy can feel the disappointment in his bones already. If only it was raining. .

Falman is the only one who has come to receive him at the station, and the General prefers it that way. Falman never sees fit to intrude on personal matters and is far too sensible to make conversation simply to fill silences. The white-haired officer salutes upon seeing his superior and expresses the hope that the General has had a good journey. He then walks with Roy over to the car in which he drives the Flame Alchemist to his modest home near the command center. Falman doesn't talk about Hawkeye, and Roy knows better than to ask. While the Lieutenant may say nothing unprovoked, he would have quite a bit to say when asked to speak.

"Will we see you at the office tomorrow, Sir?' Falman asks as the General exits the vehicle.

"Eight-thirty sharp," Roy Mustang replies, his voice full of steely determination. He has come this far, now is not the time to back out.

And if seeing Hawkeye makes him want to simply forget about his entire plan and just fold her in his arms, he will just have to keep himself in check. There is no excuse for what he has done to her all these years and for still wanting her by his side even if his future has been doomed by his own wish. No, there is no reason valid enough to justify what he has done over the years to the girl he swore to protect, the woman he swore to cherish and the human he eventually tore apart. He reminds himself that loving her with all his heart is not an excuse.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> To Be Continued aka please don't kill me! The full story if going to be written in three installments so please keep an eye out for _Fleeting_, coming soon to a computer near you.

A huge thank you to everyone who left a review and/or added this story to their alerts/favorites list. As always, I love hearing from you so let me know what you thought of part one.

Future Projects: getting some sleep, _Fleeting_, reading all the other awesome FMA Big Bang entries.


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